


When You Believe

by theglamourfades



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Celebrations, Christmas, Dress Up, F/M, Family Feels, Family Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 18:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16979895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglamourfades/pseuds/theglamourfades
Summary: Christmas is always a magical time in the Bates household. But some of the wonder risks disappearing from the season this year when one member's belief in a very important person wavers…can the Christmas spirit be saved? Modern AU.





	When You Believe

**Author's Note:**

> My A/B Secret Santa 2017 contribution - another one with a modern flavour.

Christmas had always been Anna Smith's favourite time of year, since before she was really old enough to comprehend the true extent of magic in the season. That same sense of wonder that rolled around every December had never faded, and the excitement that bubbled up within her as it approached nearer and nearer was enough to have her bouncing from the walls every single year.

She wasn't able to summarise what she loved so much; it was everything in combination. As she got into her twenties and thirties it seemed to be the case that the build-up was so much better than the big day itself. Bundling up in layers upon layers and extra oversized jumpers to head out into the freezing cold. Buying hot chocolate with extra cream swirled on top instead of her usual selection of tea. Seeing the streets turn into a parade of light, every colour imaginable on display as windows, doors and roofs twinkled and shimmered.

Anna Smith loved Christmas, but there was very little doubt that Anna Bates loved it even more.

It was fair to say that her husband wasn't as much of an enthusiastic fan of all things red, white and green, shiny or sparkly as she was. The temperature didn't need to drop much below ten degrees celsius for him to start grousing about how cold it was, and to this day it remained one of her greatest achievements in life that she had persuaded him to not only buy a garish festive jumper but managed to make him wear it for the entirety of one Christmas Day. It was still in their wardrobe – every time they had a clear-out she suggested that perhaps he might want to get rid of it, but he mumbled something along the lines of  _"no...it'll come in useful for something"_  and neatly folded its brightly-patterned sleeves before placing it back onto one of the top shelves. His insistence made Anna grin widely.

In all the years they had been together he'd fostered a deep fondness for the season, and it had only been in part thanks to her gentle prodding.

Of course what had really made the difference was the arrival of their children. She hadn't been able to stop herself from daydreaming, whenever they had discussed the prospect of starting a family; there weren't any questions about the fact that every single day spent with the little ones they might have would fill her heart with unutterable joy, but Christmases would be something special. She had almost cried with happiness thinking about it, and she knew without saying it that John shared all of her dreams.

It had been so close to being coincidental that William's due date had been early January. A couple of weeks earlier and it would have been perfect. As it was he hadn't wanted to miss out on the festivities entirely, and the eldest Bates child was a New Year's Eve baby which had certainly put a different slant on the one night of the year that was already the most memorable. Nearly seven years on and they'd been blessed with three more children, all summer babies.

Will had taken after her completely, including in his giddiness for Christmas. He got so excited about it that he didn't appear to care that much about his birthday days after, exhausted by all the adrenaline he'd used up. Claire was three now; just the right age to take notice of the fairy lights and shining decorations, a stuffed reindeer with a glowing red nose her new favourite stuffed toy. She'd wanted to be read the story of  _How the Reindeer Got Their Antlers_  every night before bed since mid-October, and though John didn't need to look at the pages of the book any more he happily obliged their daughter's wish, smiling fondly as she sucked her thumb and held her very own reindeer tight with her other arm.

Oliver and Amelia were too young for it yet, only just coming up to four months old. But it made everything lovely to have two tiny babies in their family at Christmas, and Anna had waited just long enough until it was acceptable to buy two more wooden ornaments – one in the shape of a snowman and another in the shape of a penguin – that were etched with the beautiful words: " _Baby's First Christmas_ ". They hadn't been out to choose and bring home a tree just yet – John insisted upon two weeks before Christmas Eve for that to happen and she grudgingly agreed, aware that she had to rein herself in somewhat to be bearable – but the boxes had been taken down from the attic, all the decorations sitting within ready for their annual presentation, along with the new additions.

Having changed into her fleecy pyjamas she hopped along the cold wooden floor in her bare feet, near enough jumping into the bed, eliciting a small grumble from her husband and she pressed her freezing soles against his much warmer ones.

"24 sleeps to go," she murmured in a hushed but gleeful tone against his ear, flicking off the remaining light at the bedside and snuggling down beside him, grateful that he'd done such a wonderful job of heating up the bed.

"You're worse than the kids," he said in reply, but with a smile that hadn't been masked by the pillow he was lying on.

She laughed. "I know, but you wouldn't have me any other way."

Her giggles of joy turned swiftly into contented sighs as his hands swept up her body, one creeping under the bottom of her pyjama top and meeting bare skin.

"As usual, Mrs Bates, you are very right." In the swiftest of moves he'd turned over, his previously closed eyes glowing embers in the dark as they looked down towards her. He lowered his head to press the first of a shower of kisses against her neck, undoing only the first button on her top.

She felt a shiver of delight – certainly not from the cold – as he hummed his words against her collarbone, threading a hand into his thick dark hair.

"I most certainly wouldn't."

* * *

"My god, it feels like this family triples in size every year," John huffed as he stirred two cups of cocoa at the counter. "Can't we just get them all gift vouchers and be done with it?"

Anna looked up from her seat at the table, giving him a look that dismissed his suggestion without the need for words.

"That'd look terrible. They  _have_  done so much for us over the years."

She had finished up writing all of the cards out last night, sealing and addressing all of the envelopes once William and Claire had drawn their own little doodles inside. A pen was once again set firm in her hand, but now she was setting about the task of finalising the presents that needed to be bought for their nearest and dearest.

A smile lifted her lips as she scribbled two smiling faces in the corner of the sheet of paper, complete with Santa hats on top and stars and candy canes surrounding them.

"Anyway, there's no fun in just getting vouchers. Half of the satisfaction is having a good root around the shops."

John's eyes raised to the ceiling again as he contemplated the weekends ahead that were already written off.

"Whilst the rest of the country decides to do exactly the same, at the precise hour." He peered over her shoulder at the still largely blank page whilst he set the mugs down on the table. "If it's available online then it's a winner to me."

She shook her head, pressing the nib of the pen down until an inky circle blotted the paper. John was a traditionalist in many ways but he hated shopping at the quietest of times, unless it was for books. She, on the other hand, could put up with the crowds that packed out the city centre in the evenings and Saturdays that led up to the holidays. Being of a shorter stature had its advantages, and she didn't mind sharpening her elbows here and there if it meant she could get to the perfect present first.

"Let's see; Edith and Sybil will be easy enough, a nice diary and one of those little organic beauty hampers from the fairtrade shop. And then a bottle of something each for Bertie and Tom."

Four presents ticked off already; this was a doddle.

"Some perfume for Cora," she continued, "though I suppose we'll need to check that it's not the same as what Robert will be getting her. Speaking of which, has he dropped any hints to you of what he might like?"

John slurped from his mug as he sat across from her, shaking his head.

"Don't need to ask, I already have the perfect thing in mind."

Anna was all ears, her expression poised in anticipation.

"A torch."

"A  _torch_?" she repeated, utterly confused whilst her husband had rarely looked more pleased with himself. "John, we cannot buy the descendant of the seventh Earl of Grantham a torch for Christmas."

He scoffed, seeking to dismiss her uncertainties. "Every man would be thrilled with a torch, I'm telling you. I don't mean one of those little things that hardly gives off any light. I'm talking about a proper heavy-duty bit of kit, with a beam half-a-mile long." He gazed almost wistfully into the distance. "I wouldn't mind one of those myself."

Anna frowned, reluctantly writing the word 'torch' down on the growing list. She had to admit that she didn't have any ideas of her own, and at least it was better than socks. Well, almost anything was better than socks.

"There's a cashmere scarf that Mary has had her eye on. I think she actually texted me a picture of it the other day."

She picked her phone up, scrolling through her messages before finding the one in question, showing John the photo that had been attached.

"Well, that removes the element of surprise somewhat," he chuckled heartily.

"Oh, you know what Mary is like. If we got her something unexpected that she didn't like she'd have no qualms in turning up on the doorstep and asking for the receipt first thing on Boxing Day."

He continued to laugh as he nodded, and no doubt feeling relieved for the first time that they were buying for each Crawley and not partaking in a Secret Santa-type situation.

"Henry...I don't know, something to do with cars," she mumbled.

"Talk about going from one extreme to the other," John commented, and she gave him a wry smile.

"Then that just leaves the kids..." she wondered. It was simple enough to choose for Edith's and Sybil's little ones; they'd go mad for almost any toy or trinket, with little Marigold in particular liking the most unfussy of items, amusing herself for hours on end.

It was a different story when it came to Mary's children. It was no secret amongst the Crawleys or any of their friends that they were all spoilt with material possessions, and each year it became increasingly hard to find something that they didn't already have, which would both meet with their mother's approval and wouldn't be put to one side within five minutes of opening, never to be played with or even looked at again.

At eleven years old George already had nearly every technological gadget that most adults had, including the latest iPhone. John would often express his dismay at the state of affairs, saying how ridiculous and sad it was that a boy of his age should be actively encouraged to discard his childhood so quickly. They had discussed the idea of William having a simple phone, if only for practical reasons, but it was one which was quickly dismissed. They were so frequently of the same mind and most certainly so when it came to their children, whom they both wanted to remain as innocent as they could for as long as possible. Perhaps they were being naive themselves taking on that view in this day and age but at the same time it didn't seem like so much of a stretch.

It would probably need to be a couple of hours spent in the toy superstore on the outskirts of town, with something suitably 'grown-up' for George and perhaps the same for Edward.

"The last time I was round there, little Violet kept saying that she wanted a dolly," Anna remarked. In fact, Mary's daughter was quite specific when it came to the type of doll that she wanted, which made her smile.  _"A dolly that wee-wees."_  Certainly not something that Mary would approve of. "I reckon that Claire would like the same."

She made a note separately in the memo section of her phone, keeping track of the presents she had in mind for their own children.

"That just leaves old Violet," John said with a smirk marking his lips. "I don't suppose that would do for her, as well?"

"Cheeky beggar," she replied, reaching across the table to snatch the half-full mug out of his grasp. "She'd have you put on the naughty list for such a remark."

"Oh, I don't know if that would be such a bad thing." She followed his eyes as he stood from his seat, as far as she could before he disappeared behind her. "As long as I didn't have to give anything up, that would be perfectly alright with me."

Anna squirmed in her chair, biting on her bottom lip to stifle her sighing as he lifted her hair over one shoulder, pressing his mouth to the back of her neck.

"Can't think of anything else I'd want, anyway..."

"John Bates," she gasped as he trailed his fingers lower down her back, "you are something else..."

"Mummy? Daddy?"

On hearing William's voice in the same room John quickly straightened up, placing his hands on his wife's shoulders. Anna tried similarly not to look too guilty, though a flush of pink had coloured both of her cheeks. She had hastily turned over the shopping list on the table top and half hid it with her arm, though it didn't contain anything incriminating.

"What is it, scamp?" John said, coughing to get rid of the huskiness that had filled his voice.

"The DVD has finished," Will said, in the sweetest tone, "and I haven't got any hot chocolate left."

"Well, we can't have that," John smiled, taking his hands from Anna and going over to where their son was standing in his Spiderman pyjamas. She smiled as he lifted Will up into his arms, their boy's legs getting gangly. John half-pretended to grumble picking Will up and taking him into the air. "What's say we put a few extra marshmallows in this one?"

Will's face lit up as he nodded in approval at his father's suggestion.

"Just one more cup and one more short DVD before bed," Anna said, making her way over towards the pair of them. "Much more sugar and you will be bouncing off the walls and onto the ceiling."

Will's face was serious as he took in his mother's words, though his blue eyes held an immovable twinkle. As Anna rubbed at the sleeve covering one of his arms, John moved to whisper something in his ear.

"I think that sounds rather fun, don't you, son?"

* * *

"I'm not sleepy yet, Mummy," William proclaimed as he sat rather than lay in bed, pillows propped behind him.

Anna tucked the covers tighter around him. "Give it ten minutes or so. It's past ten now; if you stay up any later then you'll be no use tomorrow."

"But there's no school tomorrow, so it'll be alright."

She shook her head, thinking to herself that he was getting a little bit cheeky with his comebacks.

"I know what will help."

She leaned from where she was perched on the edge of her son's bed to turn off the bedside lamp and instead flick on the night-light that still remained on the cabinet. Little moons and stars in shades of soft blues, yellow and purples cascaded their way up the walls, throwing themselves onto the ceiling above. There was a smile on her face as she watched the shapes dance to and fro, recalling when their first-born had been a mere bundle who fit easily into cradled arms. Looking at him now it was hard to believe where the time had gone; he was getting more grown-up by the day.

Just the other week he had made the passing comment that it should perhaps be passed down to Claire; only little children had night-lights to help them sleep, and he wasn't a baby anymore. However, Anna noticed that he was still utterly mesmerised by the display, his eyes beginning to blink heavily as they followed the flitting patterns circling above his head.

There was nothing wrong in having a couple of harmless secrets.

"How about a story as well?"

Her voice was bright with the prospect. Bedtime stories were typically John's domain but he was downstairs giving the twins their feed. After testing a few out they'd managed to find a system that worked, and rotated in the roles so that each of their children would always get equal attention from both of them.

Rooting through the box of books that Will kept at the foot of his bed she beamed as she came across one particular tale, highly appropriate for the approaching time of year.

"Oh, this is one of my favourites," she exclaimed, running her hand over the embossed cover, "and I think it might just be one of yours too."

Vivid memories of Christmas Eves past visited her; the three of them curled up on the sofa, the television off and the fire roaring as the lights on the tree twinkled. She'd watch excitedly as William's face lit up, rapt as he looked to John who pronounced every word and phrase with meaning and a lyrical melody that was completely befitting.

" ' _Twas the Night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse..."_

It had become something of a tradition, with three becoming four. This year their number was even greater, and even though the babies were too little to comprehend she couldn't wait to nestle them either side of her, enchanted as she listened to the deep timbre of her husband's voice and saw how delighted their children were.

Thinking of the special scene she hesitated, lowering the book in her hands.

"I suppose we should really save that. I don't think Daddy would be too pleased to hear that I'd stolen his thunder."

From his bed Will said nothing but simply shrugged his shoulders.

Anna frowned in the low light at her son's response. There had been something off about his mood in the last couple of weeks; he certainly hadn't been his usual jolly self, which was especially strange given the fact that Christmas was so close. Instinctively she placed a hand over his forehead, checking that he wasn't feverish. A million and one other possibilities of what the matter could be started to spring to life in her mind, each new one more frightening than the last. Worrying so much about her children's welfare was definitely the biggest downside to being a mother.

"What's the matter, sweet pea?" She kept her tone soft, using the term of endearment she had given to him when he had been a tiny baby. "It's nothing at school, is it? Because you know we've always said that you can tell us anything, and that you must, as soon as it happens."

"It's not school," he replied, quickly and confidently enough to make her breathe an inward sigh of relief.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that." She crested her fingers over one of his cheeks, hoping to coax the smallest of smiles before departing for the night. "I tell you what we need to do; write out your Christmas list. Claire's already done hers and put it in her postbox. The Santa Express is feeling a bit empty in comparison."

The little wooden train hadn't been touched since she had placed it underneath the tree, ready and waiting to deliver William's wishlist.

"It doesn't matter," he said in a small voice, raising his chin up from where it had been sitting on his chest.

"Of course it does," Anna replied, her hand smoothing over the covers. "Santa has to know in good time, just so he doesn't bring you someone else's presents by accident."

He was silent for a few moments, his mouth set into a pout, the shimmering reflections from the trusty night-light highlighting the solemnity of his expression.

"Santa isn't real, Mummy," he finally said, with not a trace of sadness or shock apparent. Instead, it just seemed to come as a matter-of-fact.

She was the one hit the hardest by the revelation, the disbelief sitting on the surface rather than sinking in.

"Who told you that?" she asked, trying to not sound like she was scolding him.

He stayed quiet, pondering what to say before revealing the answer.

"George. He said that Santa isn't real, and it's just something that mummies and daddies say so that their children will be good."

George Crawley. She might have known. She'd kept quiet by and large but it was hardly earth-shattering news to say that he could be a handful at times, carefully disguising his naughtiness with a cherubic demeanour. There was a little over four years between the two boys and while it might have been okay for George to stop believing, William was still at the age where the magic of Christmas shouldn't be called into question. It broke her heart a little to think that everything had been shattered for him and without the chance for intervention.

She would have some serious words for Mary the next time she saw her.

"Well, George will be sorry when he doesn't find anything for him under the tree on Christmas morning."

"He said that his Mummy and Henry will buy him presents and that's what happens anyway, for every little boy and girl. He already said that he will get whatever he wants."

Oh, she was sure that he would, but she wasn't so certain that it would be deserved.

William dropped his head again. "I don't really want or need anything that you or Daddy can buy, so it doesn't matter. I don't mind not having presents."

The ache that was present in her chest rose up to settle in her throat.

"Oh love, don't be a silly sausage," she said, giving him a little squeeze. "You don't have to think about it now. You get to sleep and then tomorrow we'll have a think about writing to Santa, okay? We can do it together, if you like."

Playing ignorance wasn't the best way to deal with things, but it was all she had for the time being. It was something she was going to have to sleep on herself.

He stared back at her, his blonde head poking out of the covers. A big yawn escaped from his mouth and Anna could see that he was fighting against himself to stay awake.

She pressed a kiss to his forehead, wearing a smile to hide the creeping sorrow she felt.

"Night night, sweet pea. You have sweet dreams."

"You too, Mummy," came a little mumble before he succumbed to sleep.

The moon and stars were switched off by the touch of her hand, and she spent a few minutes in the dark, contemplating just what could be done to regain her little boy's belief.

* * *

It was of no use. She came up with every Christmassy activity in the book, but nothing seemed to work. Not baking homemade mince pies and cookies, especially for a certain special person in a red suit. Nor watching any of the seasonal cartoons that he had loved every year before. William's Santa Express collected nothing more than dust as it stood, wanting to be filled with Christmas wishes but instead going neglected.

Christmas wasn't quite cancelled in the Bates household but it was fair to say that a great deal of shine and sparkle had been taken away from it this year.

With just over a week to go until the big day they found themselves heading off as a family to one of the shopping centres in town. Every Christmas up until now William and Claire had visited Santa in the grotto there, emerging with rosy-cheeked smiles and brimming with excitement, and it had been as much a treat for Anna and John to see their children so delighted.

Given his outlook this year it was assumed that Will wouldn't be joining his sister for their annual trip to say hello to Father Christmas. Though Anna hoped to change his mind with the efforts that she went to she knew that she couldn't force him, and up until the very final moment it was left entirely up to Will to come to his own decision.

She tried not to look too hopeful, crouching down as she held onto Claire's little hand, still wearing her gloves and hat.

"Mumma, Santa!" their daughter yelped as she hopped from one foot to the other, almost pulling Anna from her spot so they could get to their destination quicker. "Let's go, Santa!"

"One moment, sweetheart," Anna replied with a gentle smile. She turned her gaze from an immensely excitable Claire, who couldn't seem to keep still for longer than a millisecond, to William, who was sitting half-slumped in a chair on the edge of the dining area. In that moment her two eldest children were polar opposites. "Last chance, Will. Do you want to come, or not?"

He gave a small but firm shake of his head, and Anna surmised that it was because he didn't want to upset her by saying the words.

She felt John's eyes upon her, comforting her with the wordless gazes that were like a second language to them.

"Okay, well you stay here with Daddy, Ollie and Amelia, and we won't be long."

"Bye bye, Will," Claire waved one hand enthusiastically to her brother, "I say hello to Santa for you!"

John watched his wife and daughter head off in the direction of the grotto, Claire just like Anna in miniature form, only with her hair in pigtails. The twins lay sleeping in their double pram, bundled up well against the cold conditions out of doors.

William swung his legs back and forth as he sat in the chair, rearranging the salt and pepper shakers and stack of napkins that sat on the table in front of him, apparently not at all interested in the many colourful decorations that adorned the space around them.

He couldn't help but be troubled by his son's forlorn appearance and introspective manner, when all the other children in the place were bouncing around like hyperactive elves.

"Hey, Will, what's say we get ourselves some triple chocolate cake while Mummy and Claire are gone? I won't tell if you don't." He drew a cross on his chest and then lifted his fingers to his head to give a salute. "Scout's honour."

He gave another shake of his head, staring down at the table. "No thank you, Daddy."

Pushing the pram gently over the floor, he stood and rearranged his seat so that he could sit by his son's side rather than opposite him. After a few seconds William acknowledged his father's closer presence, looking up towards John with his big blue eyes and the weight of the world written upon his face.

"So," John began, placing a hand upon his son's knee, "will you tell me what all this not believing in Santa anymore is about? Man to man."

He gave Will an encouraging smile, allowing the boy to take his time. Even if he turned around and insisted that he didn't want to talk about it then that was fine; at least they'd given him the chance, without any pressure.

"I'm nearly seven, Daddy," William said, matter-of-factly. "Being seven means that I'm not a baby anymore."

"That it does."

John smiled wryly to himself; he imagined that Anna would want to argue that point quite strongly. He also had a little trouble coming to terms with how fast their boy was growing up, wanting to hold clear the memory of bringing him home from hospital on that crisp sunny day at the very start of January as if it had happened only yesterday.

"Well, George said that only babies believe in Santa."

"Did he, now? Well, I can tell you now that he's got that one wrong. Because I still believe in Santa."

Will's little face rumpled in an expression of disbelief.

"I believe in Santa," John continued, "and Mummy does too. And so does Uncle Robert, and we both know that he's  _really_  old. So I'm afraid that whatever George heard, he's got it very wrong."

His son dipped his head again, now quite uncertain of what conclusion to come to.

"It is okay to have questions though," John touched a hand to William's back, hoping to offer some reassurance. "Like, it's not the  _actual_ Santa who's here in the grotto. He's far too busy in the North Pole, so he sends a lot of his special helpers to dress like him and come here so that all the children aren't too disappointed. That makes sense, doesn't it?"

At least he hoped that it did.

"I guess," Will said after a little while spent thinking. He was his father's son, that was for certain. "But how does he get round the whole world in one night? Even if he went really,  _really_  fast it would still be unpossible."

John stopped himself from chuckling from his son's mispronunciation. "You see, Santa is magic. He can make it so that time can slow right down just for him, while it goes on the same for everyone else. That way he can go right across the world, visiting every single house one by one. But it does get very tiring bending time like that, which is why he only works for one night of the year. Other than overseeing all of the elves and keeping an eye on who has been naughty or nice."

He gave Will's elbow a little nudge and tipped him a wink.

"Does he change too?" Will enquired further. "He can't be the same Santa forever."

"Ah, that's more magic. Santa isn't like the rest of us. He can go on living forever and ever. For as long as there are boys and girls and mummies and daddies who believe in him."

John almost hoped that would be the end of the questions, at least for the time being, as he wasn't sure what else he could come up with being put on the spot. No doubt their inquisitive little boy would have more, but he'd be able to deal with them much better if he had at least a night to think about the answers.

Will looked back at him, still slightly perplexed, but seeming brighter than before.

"So, he's a bit like Spiderman because he has special super powers."

"That's exactly it," John said with an eager smile. William answered with one which wasn't quite as certain, but John felt more assured that there had been an improvement in the situation.

On cue the babies stirred from their pram, and both John and William leaned forward to peer down at them, the issue of Father Christmas's legitimacy forgotten for the time being whilst amusing the twins was the main priority.

Another fifteen minutes or so passed until Anna and Claire came toddling back, Claire clutching a present wrapped in silver and red shiny paper. While Anna took over seeing to the twins, John scooped up their daughter in his arms, barely restraining his laughter at her shining face.

"How was Santa this year, pudding?"

"Reawwy good!" Claire replied enthusiastically. "He said I been good, and gave me this!"

"It was very kind of him to give you an early present," John said, eyeing the gift, "we'll have to put it under the tree when we get home so that it can wait for the others to arrive."

From the corner of his eye he noticed that William was doing his utmost not to look at the gift that his sister was holding in her little hands, garish wrapping covering it.

"And Daddy," Claire hurried to say, her words coming out slightly garbled in her giddiness, "I seed Rudolph!"

"You were more excited about patting Rudolph and feeding him a carrot, weren't you, love?" Anna interjected with a smile, and Claire nodded her head.

"Well, you've had quite a day of it, baby girl," John affirmed, pressing a kiss to one of her chubby cheeks. "I think we'd better have some lunch before you burn yourself out."

They stayed for a little while, Anna dashing off to pick up that cashmere scarf that Mary was after – even though if it was up to him she'd be getting nothing more than a lump of coal for allowing her son to spread his silly notions to their boy. Suitably full and shopped out they headed back to the car before the sun set completely, though the skies were already lit with the glow of surrounding Christmas lights.

"Can we put the radio on, Daddy?" William asked from his seat in the back; he no longer needed the booster seat, which had instead been passed onto Claire.

"What's the magic word?"

"Please."

" _Pwease!"_  Claire chorused along, although both John and Anna imagined that she was still floating with the excitement of having paid a visit to Santa and Rudolph.

"Alright then," he replied, turning the car stereo on without bothering to change the station.

As could have been expected the radio was playing back to back Christmas songs, and the car filled with the familiar melody of the one that they had switched on to hear the best part of.

 _# You better watch out, you better not cry_  
You better not pout, I'm telling you why  
Santa Claus is coming to town #

John tapped his hands upon the steering wheel, the song not one of his favourite seasonal selections but infectious all the same. At his side Anna hummed along, adding a perfect harmonisation, and he glanced quickly to smile at her, feeling more into the festive mood as the day got closer.

Out of nowhere a memory came into his head, as well as a remembered conversation which he had shared with his oldest friend, and he wasn't sure why it hadn't come to him sooner.

As the car sat waiting in front of red lights, he looked into the gap between the seats to see their eldest child, sitting with his eyes closed and not singing along to the song that was about to come to a close, unlike his sister who was squealing along at the top of her voice.

If this idea wasn't likely to work, he wasn't sure if anything would.

* * *

The phone had been ringing so long that John was on the verge of giving up. Whereas he would always rush to answer, unable to bear the repetitive and shrill sound, Robert was much more casual about matters, even if it was a life or death situation at hand.

"Sorry, mate," he wheezed down the phone when he finally answered, "the tree lights went bust last night and you caught me mid-tangle."

"Better than catching you mid anything else," John replied, wincing to think of the various other times he had called over the years and been privy to something he really shouldn't have been.

"That's true," Robert chuckled, recalling the same instances no doubt. "What can I do you for?"

"Remember the Christmas party, 2006 I think it was. Maybe 2005."

"Blimey. I can barely remember what happened last week, never mind twelve years ago. Give me more to go on, something might twig."

He didn't need to try too hard to rack his brain.

"Joe Molesley polished off the entire stock of your mother's sherry and was convinced he was Dasher. Or was it Prancer?"

Robert groaned. "How could I ever forget? And actually, I think it was Vixen."

John tried and failed to stifle a laugh, spluttering down the line.

"Of course. I recall him trying to get into one of Cora's skirts. The lipstick was a move too far, though."

"I tell you what was too far; him trying to climb onto the bloody roof. Six hours in A&E. I still haven't forgiven him for that."

"Crazy days," John smirked, whilst also being glad that life was a great deal quieter now. "Anyway, it was your fault, given what  _you_ were wearing all night."

"I..." he faltered for a few moments, much to John's incredulity. Then the penny dropped. "Ah, yes. Well, I didn't ask for any little helpers, at any road."

"Speaking of help, that's what I was calling about." For a moment he wondered whether this was such a wise move after all. Perhaps the thing was cursed with misfortune, as he hadn't recalled Robert airing it ever since. Still, he didn't expect a drunken Molesley to turn up outside by the greatest of coincidences when he himself donned the apparel. "You don't still happen to have that get-up in your possession, do you? Minus the boots, obviously."

The line went momentarily silent while Robert thought on the request. "Hmmm, probably. You know that Cora never likes to throw anything out if she can avoid it. Might take a bit of a root around, but I reckon it's stashed in some corner of the attic."

"Brilliant." John was more pleased than he should have been on hearing the news. "Nothing urgent, but would it be alright to pop round on Thursday and pick it up?"

"Of course. I can't say it won't be a little dusty, but as long as the fleas haven't got at it. I can take a look when I get off the phone."

"Shouldn't you see to the tree first?"

"You're right. It's not Cora but my mother who'll have my guts for garters if they're not sorted by the time she gets here."

John could hear the lack of joy in his friend's voice though he knew too well that it was an act; as formidable and downright terrifying as she was, everyone who met her could not be failed to be charmed by Violet Crawley.

"Just one thing, though," Robert coughed, lowering his voice to a whisper. "It's not for you and Anna to get up to anything... _kinky_ , is it?"

"God, no," John chortled, not sure whether to be weirded out by the fact that that was what had occurred to him. "I mean, as far as I know she hasn't got that particular fantasy. Not that we need to dress up, anyway..."

Robert could be heard inhaling a sharp breath. "That's enough, thank you very much. Don't make me put you in the same bracket as Joseph Molesley. Anyway, no problem; pop round when you can. Mother will be here by Thursday, I'm sure she'd love to chat for a while."

"Great," John replied, brow lifting and stomach clenching at the prospect. "You're a star, mate. I owe you one."

"You really don't," Robert said, and then paused. "Unless...are you any good with untangling several sets of tree lights? No sherry, but there will be a mince pie or two in it for you."

* * *

"Okay, bath time and then you're both off to bed."

Two perturbed faces turned towards her from the sofa.

"Mumma, pwease!" Claire trilled sweetly, her blue eyes enlarging like saucers. "I want to stay up."

"Please, Mummy," William echoed, pulling his legs out from underneath him, "it's not that late. And we're off now, so there's..."

"No school tomorrow," Anna finished the sentence with a smile straining against her lips. She looked at both children, the picture of innocence as they were framed by the twinkling of the tree with an array of cards from family, friends and acquaintances circling their heads. "Alright, you've twisted my arm. Another half an hour, but then you're both up the wooden hills. It is very nearly Christmas Eve, after all, so most children do as they're told."

She attempted to sound stern but failed miserably; the sight of them, faces lit up with glee at the prospect of a 'late night' was too adorable to ignore. And God knows she tried the same trick enough times when she was little, her dad being the softer touch.

"How many sleeps to go, Claire Bear?"

Anna pulled the advent calendar down from the wall and passed it into her daughter's hands.

"One..." her little fingers began to count the number of doors that were still closed, "two...three! Three sleeps, Mumma!"

"Three sleeps," Anna exclaimed, "that's hardly anything at all."

Claire wriggled against her seat on the sofa. "I can't wait!"

Her eldest daughter's excitement was infectious, flushing her cheeks with the same merry glow.

"Don't wish the time away, love." It would take quite a few years but eventually she would come to see that the best part of Christmas lay in the lead-up to the big day itself, all of the anticipation making you feel that you could burst. "What about you, Will?"

She felt herself deflate somewhat when she looked upon her son, his eyes glazed and his shoulders giving a lazy shrug.

"I suppose," came his less-than-enthused reply, his gaze directed to the television rather than the sparkling baubles that were hanging from the branches of the tree.

Anna suppressed a sigh, looking up towards the angel that sat at the top – recalling each time that John had lifted their boy into the air to do the honours, Will's happy laugh ringing out – before she wiped her hands on her jeans, and turned to the bouncer seats on the floor which contained two very content babies.

"At least I can rely on the two of you," she said in a hushed tone so as not to disturb them, placing a finger under Amelia's and then Oliver's chin.

The knock that came upon the front door was muffled by the various sounds happening in the living room, and even though the twins were startled from their sleepiness it didn't come as enough of a shock to cause them to burst into tears, which she was thankful for.

"A knock at this time of night," she announced, a touch exaggeratedly, "I suppose it'll be carol singers."

She left the kids with the amusement of the television momentarily to go out into the hallway, her heart beginning to hammer in her chest. No doubt she'd have got the timings wrong and it would actually be a delivery man out on the doorstep, looking thoroughly confused at her flushed and flustered appearance.

She still couldn't believe that he had formulated the plan by himself, never mind seen fit to go through with it. Her husband, of all people. He hadn't quite been in the same league as Ebenezer Scrooge when they had met but he'd had enough of the 'bah, humbug' attitude when it came to the season, being glad when it was all over and life could return back to normal. She remembered the party that Robert and Cora had held years ago, the Christmas before they had got engaged the following spring; he hadn't been able to roll his eyes hard enough at his best friend dressing from head to toe in the velvety red Santa suit, full regalia, white fluffy beard and all.

She gave herself a firm warning not to burst out into hysterics when she saw him standing there in the very same outfit. He'd made her promise not to have a sneaky look whilst he'd been trying it on and she'd kept her word, even though she'd been dying to spring him by surprise and snap an incriminating photo.

There was only a very select audience he was willing to go to such lengths for, and it had warmed her heart completely.  _This might be the only chance_ , he had told her, quite sincerely.  _I don't care how daft it makes me seem, if it'll make him believe again._

Undoing the snip on the door, an icy blast of night air entered the hallway and John appeared on the doorstep, looking utterly unrecognisable.

"Ho, ho, ho," he boomed in a deep but unmistakably jolly tone, "where are your parents, little girl?"

"Silly beggar," she chided him as he stepped inside, crossing her arms against her chest to shield herself from the sudden cold. "You'll have caught your death being out there for so long."

"Not with this fine suit," he answered while she shut the door behind him, "and not to mention my natural padding."

His hands rested on his extended stomach, plumped out by several cushions. He'd made the remark to her that he'd needed more than Robert had, which she hadn't been able to argue with.

"Well then, Mr Claus, you'd better get to it," she ordered, a hint of teasing in her voice. "I've agreed that they can stay up especially, but I'm afraid that you're on the clock."

His face was all but covered from her but he smiled deep from his eyes, and there was no mistaking those crinkles that spread out from their corners; one of the features that she loved the most about his physical appearance.

She led the way back to the living room, keen to keep up the surprise until the very last moment, as John did his utmost not to let the clumping of the heavy boots give him away.

"Claire, Will," she called out to their children, still glued to the screen, "you'll never guess who's turned up to pay a visit."

"Ho, ho, ho," John bellowed again as he stood behind her, "Merry Christmas!"

To her surprise, both heads swivelled round at the sound of the trademark greeting, amazement shining in their eyes. Claire was first to clamber down from the sofa, running over without hesitation.

"Santa!" she shouted, jumping up and down on the spot in front of John. "Hewwo again!"

"Well, hello, Claire! It was so very nice to see you the other day. I was just telling your Mummy so. I hope you enjoyed it too."

She nodded eagerly, the smile on her face barely contained by her little cheeks.

"Is Rudolph here?" she asked after a few moments of being lost on what to say.

"I'm afraid not. He's having a nice, long rest with the other reindeer, because they're going to have quite a job ahead of them in a few nights. But I do have to pass on his thanks for the carrot you gave to him, he enjoyed it very much."

Her disappointment quickly turned back into glee, laughing when 'Santa' crouched down and brushed a gloved hand against her cheek.

"Now, I made a note of all of the things you asked for, and I can see that you haven't opened the present I gave to you either."

Claire both shook and nodded her head at the same time. "I be good!"

John gave a deep chortle; if he ever found himself short of work then Anna suspected that he would do quite well as a stand-in for any children's party or grotto that went short of a Santa.

"You have been very good, indeed. And, if you keep it up then there might even be a few extra surprises that you haven't asked for."

A few steps behind his sister William stood, a rather stunned expression on his face. Anna looked towards their son, hoping fervently that he wouldn't either run off or burst into a fit of tears – or worse, do both at once.

"And William," John finally said, his cheeks lifting beneath the beard that covered the lower half of his face, "it's lovely to see you again. I was rather disappointed when you didn't accompany your sister this year. I had a present saved especially with your name on it."

He remained silent for a few moments, simply staring at the man who towered above him. Finally, and without any coaxing from Anna, his mouth dropped open.

"I'm...I'm sorry," he uttered, in a small and earnest voice.

John laughed in the jolly way, causing the smallest hint of a smile to rise upon William's face. Anna was speechless, seeing the tell-tale glimmer come back into their son's eyes, and she hid her own beaming smile behind her hands.

"There's no need for that," John answered, his hands flat against the rounded stomach once more. "I'm afraid that you'll have to wait for the present to arrive with all the others, though."

Will nodded, not daring to argue.

"I suppose you're probably wondering why I'm here, given that it's not Christmas Eve yet."

"I guess so," William replied in a shy voice, whilst Claire whirled around him, still overcome with the excitement of it all.

"Well, I have to check that all the conditions are good before the big night, so I land in a few spots across the world, just to make sure that nothing will be in my way. And if I can, I like to stop in to see some of my favourite children."

"Will," Claire squealed with joy, pulling on the sleeve of her brother's jumper, "Santa likes us the most!"

William looked rather embarrassed at his little sister's display, though Anna could see the smile that was pulling wider at his lips. He turned his attention back to Santa, his face open.

"I did hear a few whisperings from my elves," John uttered as he crouched down with some effort to be level with Will's height, "that perhaps you were starting to doubt whether I was real or not."

It took less than a few seconds for William to shake his fair head.

"No," he replied, quite confidently, even if the daze was plain upon his face. "My friend said you weren't real. But I asked my daddy, and he said he believed in you, and that Mummy believes in you too. And I know that my daddy always tells the truth."

John had to fight hard to stop the tears trickling from his eyes as he looked his son straight in the face. Anna, however, did not face the same problem, and let the stream flow steadily, dabbing her hand against her cheeks.

"I'd say that your mummy and daddy are wise indeed, and very lucky to have such good children like you, your sister, and your very little sister and brother."

Will smiled and then glanced across to where Anna stood. Luckily she was recovered from her moment of overflowing emotion, and gave their son the fondest smile right back to him.

John placed both his gloved hands against William's arms.

"Now, I think there might have been a problem with the post, because for some reason I didn't get your list."

Will's gaze dropped to the floor and his feet shuffled. "I might...I might not have sent it," he said in a whisper.

"Oh dear," John replied in a voice that was even deeper still, looking closely at his son's suddenly very worried face. "Well, it's good that I dropped by then. I tell you what; you whisper the one thing that you would like the most in my ear, and I promise that I will do the very best I can to get it to you for this Christmas. Even if my elves have to work a little overtime."

He seemed a bit uncertain at first, but prompted by an emphatic "go on, Will," from Anna he crept further forward, holding both of his hands over Santa's ear so that the wish could be heard by no other.

"Well, well," John said, "I can see why you would like that. Thank you, William. Now, I had better be on my way, so I can get word back to the North Pole without delay."

"Don't go, Santa! Mumma, make Santa stay!" Claire exclaimed loudly, tugging at Anna's jeans. She scooped her daughter up hastily into her arms, now worried that she would be the one to make the display.

"I can't, pudding," she said in a soothing voice, smoothing a hand over their little girl's back, "he has places he has to go. We're very lucky that he came to see us in the first place."

John stood again and reached out a finger to boop Claire on the nose, which quickly got rid of her unhappy pout and replaced it with a giggle.

"I shall see you again very soon, Claire," he promised. "Don't forget to leave another carrot out for Rudolph; he does like them ever so much."

"I will, Santa!" she shouted gleefully.

He turned to smile towards Anna, crinkles showing just for her.

"Thank you very much for letting me in, Mrs Bates."

She fought to keep a straight face as she bobbed Claire up and down in her arms.

"Thank  _you,_ Santa."

He grinned cheekily and then looked to Will before he was about to head into the hallway again. His son was still visibly surprised, not having a moved an inch from the spot where he stood.

Well, he couldn't be too disappointed; at least it meant that his plan had worked extremely well.

Just before he was about to leave, a sweet sound called him back.

"Thank you for listening to my wish, Santa."

A bashful smile filled his son's cheeks and John's heart was immediately lifted.

"You are very welcome, William," he replied, putting some added cheer into his voice. "And even though it's a bit early, I'd like to wish you a very Merry Christmas."

The little smile transformed into a beaming grin.

"Merry Christmas, Santa."

* * *

John turned at the waist, unable to ignore his wife in her helpless fit of giggling for a moment longer. She'd laugh to the point of wheezing, then stay silent and composed for a few moments before she spluttered again and the whole cycle went for another turn. It was always the way when something happened to really tickle her.

"I'm glad that my foolish ways amuse you, Mrs Bates."

Anna was stretched out on their bed, her head pressed back against the headboard as she guffawed. Hands fanning her face, she took a deep breath and recovered herself, eyes shining as she looked at him in the lamplight.

"No," she said earnestly, giving her head a little shake and wearing a smile that was much more assured, "it's not foolish in the slightest. I just never expected that I would be playing host to Santa Claus. It makes me feel quite special, really."

He grinned at the look on her face, her eyes raking over his body. He was still clad in the surprisingly weighty suit, though the boots had long gone. The fur-trimmed jacket was undone, revealing plain the white undershirt that was tucked into the crimson velvet trousers. He'd taken off the hat and the ridiculous curly wig also, as well as the similar mass that had covered his chin. He reached a hand up to rub the area, feeling phantom prickles against his skin.

"Jesus, I think that thing's given me a rash."

She chuckled, shuffling along to the end of the bed.

"I don't know how it worked. I was sure that Will would twig at some point and know that it was you."

He smiled, having had the same worries throughout the whole escapade. "To be honest, it was Claire who had me the most nervous. I didn't want to pick her up just in case she tugged on the beard and gave the whole game away. Which was a difficult thing to do."

"She was so excited, bless her heart." Anna became a little misty-eyed, basking in the shine afforded by their children's complete happiness. "Actually, she didn't ask where you had got to, she was that wrapped up."

John grunted, letting a flicker of disappointment show through. "Ousted in my own home."

Anna shook her head as she stood up, the sincere look deep in her eyes giving him the answer he wanted.

"Well, I think it was more than worth it," she exclaimed brightly, draping her arms around his neck and humming at the brush of fur and velvet against her skin. "The look on his face. Honestly, I don't think I've ever seen him looking more adorable. Apart from when he was a tiny little thing, of course."

He smiled at her, knowing precisely how she felt. His own heart still felt as though it should have been existing outside of his body, feeling overcome. That mixture of emotion that had been painted onto their son's expression, so impossible to describe but much easier to just  _feel_. Well, that was what Christmas was all about.

"I know," he uttered, still awestruck from the success of it all. "It makes me feel pretty bloody magical."

She lifted her lashes, smiling up at him. "That's because you are, Mr Bates. You know, most of the time I don't think you know your own powers."

He was struck by a keen sense of modesty, quite sure that anyone else in his shoes would have done precisely the same. It had always been her who had given him the boost of confidence to do the things he had never imagined, and with their children he had added impetus.

"You do know that you're going to have to make it an annual tradition now, though?"

"Errr..." he stumbled, not really having thought that far ahead.

She looked upwards, fighting to keep a straight face. "We've got to make Will believe for as long as possible. It's alright dismissing George Crawley, but then his school-mates are going to start spreading rumours."

"If I didn't know better, I might suspect that you wanted me to dress up like this for your benefit."

"Not at all," she retorted, her hands loosening from his shoulders and trailing their way down his torso, smoothing against him in a way that made his breath catch. "Though, I wouldn't necessarily be complaining."

John's eyebrows shot up as he registered her hands dipping yet lower, heading swiftly for the waistband of the trousers that were being held up by a pair of old-school black braces.

"Rob put down some ground rules," he managed to say, enchanted by the cheeky and desirous look on her face. "I never...I mean you're not into...are you?"

" _Santa_?" Her nose wrinkled temporarily. "No. That would be weird."

Relief flooded over him; there was no need to feel strange about the tingles that were working up and down his spine at the present moment.

Her crafty fingers did creep their way inside, but travelled in the opposite direction than he was expecting, walking a path from his stomach to his chest whilst the undershirt remained on, for the time being.

"Red is definitely your colour, though," she trilled, giving him a glimpse of her glowing smile before she pressed her lips to his neck.

John let out a groan as her mouth danced upon him, his hands slipping down to her waist for a few moments before another idea came into his mind.

He whipped the jacket from his shoulders, wrapping it about her instead. Anna let out another chorus of giggles, intermittent with contented sighs as she registered his hands running over the curves of her body which were now swathed in velvet.

"Oh," he breathed, sipping the first kiss from her lips, "I think that it suits you  _much_  better."

* * *

One eye blinked open where his head was nestled against the pillow, and before he'd even read the numbers on the clock at the bedside he had known it was far too early. Yet the sound of footsteps bouncing up and down the landing outside accompanied by excited whisperings announced that their two eldest children were well and truly up, and more than ready to start the day.

"Half six," he groaned, rolling onto his back, "you know what the best Christmas present would be? A long lie-in."

"What's one of those when they're at home?" Anna was perched at the foot of the bed, Oliver bundled in her arms finishing off his early morning feed. "This is standard for these two. As for those little monkeys...well, it's your own fault for getting them all riled up the other night,  _Santa_."

John rubbed a hand over his eyes, taking the remnants of sleep away from them. The suit was back in its bags, all stored away; it had been left somewhat carelessly strewn on their bedroom floor for longer than it should have been, which would have taken some serious explaining if either child had wandered in unexpectedly.

"Ah well, there's still Boxing Day." Having thrown back the covers he crawled along to where his wife was sitting, placing his hands upon her shoulders. "Merry Christmas, love."

"Merry Christmas," she returned, settling Oliver into the crook of her arm and smiling towards John over her shoulder. Amelia was in her carry seat on the floor and John leaned down to pick her up, leaving a gentle kiss upon her little forehead.

A beautiful moment of peace early on Christmas morning with their youngest children was much appreciated. In a few years time they'd be joining their older brother and sister, four pairs of hands rapping upon their door.

Both John and Anna smiled, unable to ignore the knocks much longer. He placed Amelia down on the bed, heading to open the door.

"And what are you doing up so early, young lady?" he said earnestly, looking down towards the ball of energy that was his eldest daughter.

"It's Christmas, Daddy!" Claire answered, jumping up and down on the spot as though her feet had been replaced by springs.

"Ah, so it is."

"We've been awake for ages," William's voice piped up behind his sister's back, his own excitement simmering on the surface and shining through in his bright eyes, "can we go downstairs now, please?"

" _Pweeeeease,_ Daddy!" Claire agreed.

John grinned, finding it increasingly difficult not to get swept up in the mood that had entered their house.

"Just give us a couple of minutes to get the twins settled, and then we can all go downstairs."

They trundled down the stairs in a troop, Claire and William leading the way, Anna and Oliver following and John and Amelia bringing up the rear. As John made his way around switching all of the lights on, Anna felt two pairs of hands tug either side at her dressing gown.

"Mumma, look!" Claire pointed down at the 'footprints' upon the floor – the outcome of her sprinkling flour around the boots that John had worn along with the rest of the outfit. "He's been!"

"He has, indeed!" Anna exclaimed, smoothing her hand over her daughter's golden hair.

Glancing to her side she was thrilled to see that Will wore a grin a mile wide observing the evidence of Santa's presence in their house. Of course she didn't pretend that the day wouldn't come where the mystical sense of wonder flew away, but it had been far too soon for it to disappear and to see the excitement glowing in his face was the best Christmas present she could have received.

The pair of them all but ran into the sitting room, dropping to their knees in front of the array of freshly delivered gifts spilling out from underneath the tree. The babies babbled their own contentedness, and she couldn't have asked for a better start to the day.

Claire was all ready to get stuck in, plucking up the present in the silver and red paper, but the gentle hand of her older brother held her back.

"Can we start, Mummy?" Will asked, the polite reserve in his tone making both of their hearts swell.

"Go for it," Anna replied, and soon enough wrapping paper was flying across the room.

John and Anna looked on, holding a twin each and stealing kisses from one another, as Will and Claire eagerly showed off all of their new toys, which took some time to get through – yet they still managed to pull out perfectly surprised expressions on being confronted with each one.

Given that it was so early when they'd finished unveiling everything there was more than enough time to un-box a couple. Claire was gleefully wheeling her shiny doll's pram over the floor, with a new doll as well as her favourite Rudolph teddy inside. Will had elected to open the scooter, which had been his 'main' present, along with a couple of action figures. He gave the scooter a couple of glides before placing it neatly to the side of the sofa, sitting himself back down quietly.

Anna noticed the look on their son's face, and nudged John's elbow.

"Everything alright, scamp?" he asked, going over to where Will sat. "You're pleased with all that Santa brought you?"

William nodded, sincerity shining through in his eyes.

"It's my fault, I was late telling him," he said in a small voice, keen not to sound ungracious. "But he promised, and I thought maybe...it doesn't really matter."

John put an arm around their boy, glancing to share a smile with Anna.

"Actually, Santa left a note," she stepped forward to say, fishing a piece of paper from her pocket, "he couldn't leave that present under the tree, but if you go into the kitchen, by the back door, you might just see it."

The spark of hope returned to Will's face, and he hopped from the sofa, following the instructions he'd been given.

"Good thinking, love," John whispered to Anna as they trailed behind their son, "I did worry that he'd go back to thinking that George was right, after all."

"Well, you did most of the work on that front," she replied with a smile, "I had to chip in somewhere."

Will found the box, covered in Christmas paper, and got onto his knees, lifting the lid cautiously. A little 'meow' could be heard coming from inside, and Will's face flooded with happiness as he delved inside, plucking out the little kitten that just fit in the palm of his hands.

"He's so cute!" he exclaimed, cradling the ball of fluff to his chest.

"Now, that was an extra special delivery," John told him, "but Santa didn't want to let you down. And seeing as you've been very good, he trusted you enough to look after him."

"I will, I promise I will!" It was clear to see that he was completely enamoured with the kitten, and the mews it emitted told them that the feeling was mutual. "I'm going to call him Socks."

"That's a very good name," Anna smiled, going forward for a stroke of the kitten's fur.

"And it is tradition to get socks at Christmas," John added with a grin.

The day went on happily, most of it consumed with fussing over the latest addition to the Bates family, who settled in very well. By the time seven o'clock in the evening rolled around three of the four children were sleeping, Claire having used up all of her excess energy, and Anna was upstairs tucking her into bed and seeing that the twins were alright.

Father and son were left on the sofa, watching a film that John remembered from the '80s, all about the big man himself.

"Daddy," Will said from his side, "there's something that I think I should tell you."

"Go on, my lad."

His blue eyes turned serious, a small frown on his earnest face.

"When Santa was here the other night, I got out of bed because I couldn't sleep. And before I came downstairs I saw him with Mummy in the hall. And...Santa gave Mummy a kiss."

John did his best to stop the smirk from overtaking his expression, looking serious in front of his son.

"Did he, now? Well, perhaps I ought to have a word or two with Santa, the next time he comes over."

William nodded, holding a curled-up Socks in his lap. "I think maybe you should."

**Author's Note:**

> Santa Claus Is Coming To Town written by John Frederick Coots and Haven Gillespie, and performed by various artists over the year. I'm going to go with either Michael Buble (Anna's choice) or Bruce Springsteen (John's preference) ;)
> 
> I saw 'William's Santa Express' in a Christmas gift catalogue and knew I had to include it here.
> 
> For the kitten's name, I opened Neko Atsume (the cat collecting mobile phone game) on my phone and chose the first cat I saw. It was a pure coincidence that Socks goes well with Christmas :D


End file.
